


Sanctuary

by campsearchlight



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Expanded on a scene in retribution so spoilers!, Finally on a first name basis lmao, First Time, It’s not that graphic but tagged as mature just in case, Mutual Pining, Other, baby’s first smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: Jules Darington is an idiot who will not admit the obvious to the idiot they reluctantly care about. Not out loud, at least.





	Sanctuary

Trailing behind Ortega to his bedroom was a surreal feeling, one that Jules hadn’t ever expected to experience. It felt like it wasn’t really happening, but then Ortega was closing the blinds, drawing thick curtains as requested, and the shift in scenery—namely, just staring at him as opposed to the skyline—snapped them back into focus. 

Jules closed the door gently, listening for the soft click, and leaned their back against it. They watched silently with feigned disinterest as Ortega, facing them, pulled off his undershirt. Quickly, while his face was obscured so he couldn’t catch them looking, their eyes traced over his scarred chest and stomach, the coarse hair disappearing below his belt. 

Their gaze lingered too long. 

He smirked at them. “What? Did you want to do this for me?”

They shook their head, fighting their own smirk. “You may proceed.” Was it weird that they just wanted to watch? Would he consider it unfair if they didn’t offer him the same show? 

No, they had to convince themself that he had already accepted their boundaries. Not wanting to be seen naked wasn’t that strange, was it? Did he believe it to be basic self-consciousness? They hoped so. 

Either way, Ortega didn’t seem to mind. He actually seemed to enjoy it, watching them watch him, his hands traveling slowly to his belt buckle. And then, he stopped, giving them a questioning look. “What about this part?”

Jules scoffed. “Really, Ortega. This is taking forever.”

His smirk stretched into a cocky grin. He unbuckled the belt. “Last chance, Darington.”

They rolled their eyes. He really was enjoying this. 

The belt came undone. The pants dropped to his ankles. He stepped out of them nonchalantly. 

Jules’s cool gaze traveled down his naked torso to the evident bulge in his boxer briefs. “Well...” This was way out of the realm of their expertise. 

“Well?” he prompted, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear. 

Suddenly, Jules felt entirely too dressed for this to be fair. In compromise, they peeled off their hoodie, exposing the black long-sleeved shirt underneath, and dropped it under the light switch. Even something as simple as removing one layer felt like they were baring themself. “Well,” they said again, “maybe we should turn off the lights before this goes any further.”

They knew this was wrong. They knew shouldn’t be doing this. They should have left after dinner. No. They shouldn’t have even _had_ dinner here. They knew that the temptation multiplied in private. Being here, doing this, was stupid and reckless and—

In a swift movement that Jules could not have been less prepared for, Ortega stripped off his underwear, saying, “If that’s what you want.” 

It was. In a moment. Jules’s fingertip hesitated on the switch, and Ortega’s grin grew lascivious as he sauntered toward them. 

The lights went off.

Jules couldn’t see at all in the darkness. They swallowed hard, trying not to panic as Ortega moved closer. “Where are you?” Their throat was suddenly so dry. It would be weird to ask for a glass of water at a time like this, right?

“Right here,” he said, and his hand bumped into their shoulder before sliding down to take their hand. 

“I...” Jules didn’t know what the next words out of their mouth were going to be, and it didn’t matter, because Ortega leaned down and kissed them, his lips finding theirs almost unerringly. 

It would be easy, they thought, to step back, to leave, to go home and forget they had just seen Ortega completely naked. To try to forget the feeling of Ortega’s bare shoulders under their fingers. 

_Oh, Christ_ , but they felt so greedy suddenly, trying to feel as much of him as they could—warm skin, hard muscle, the pad of their thumb pressing into the iliac furrow at his hip—as he walked them to the bed. They broke the kiss when the backs of Ortega’s legs hit the edge of the bed and tried to catch their breath. 

“Wish you’d kiss me like that more often,” he said, voice low and raspy. 

Their cheeks burned. “Shut up.” 

“What, getting shy?”

“No,” they lied. Couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of admitting that to him. 

He chuckled, his hands sliding down to their hips. He tugged at the hem of their topmost shirt. “So... is this okay?”

They almost told him _no, it’s not_. Almost. 

“Hurry up already,” they said instead. 

He undressed them methodically. Teasing them. Jules closed their eyes when all they had on was their underwear, trying to keep their breathing steady and failing. It was taking every ounce of their willpower not to spiral into a panic attack. 

_He can’t see them. There’s no fucking way he can. It’s so dark in_ — 

His fingers slipped under the elastic, tugged downward ever so slightly. His face lowered to their shoulder, and he placed a kiss there. “Still okay?”

“Yes.” The permission was unwittingly whispered. They wished he would do this faster so they could finally hide under the covers. 

He hummed contentedly, and then their underwear fell around their ankles. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Shut up,” they said again, and pushed him onto the bed. “I’m not shy, asshole.”

He fell with a laugh. “Won’t let me see you, though, so what would you call it?”

Jules didn’t know what name to give the feeling of being disgusted by their own skin, so they put a totally wrong label on it. “Modesty? Which you seem to lack.”

He laughed some more. The sound of it should have annoyed them, but it just made them need to get closer, feel the rumble of it through his chest. 

They nudged his knee with one of their own. “Move up, idiot. I don’t want to end up on the floor.”

He did as instructed. “Afraid I’ll be too rough with you?”

“Kind of,” they admitted without thinking. 

They could barely see the silhouette of his arms reach out for them. His hands, warm and firm, found theirs. 

He must have heard the truth clearly in their voice. “Oh. Oh, Jules. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Hearing him say their name did it for them. This might as well happen now. 

They let him pull them onto the bed next to him, and then they scrambled to get under the covers. 

“Cold?” he asked, scooting up to join them underneath. 

“Yes,” they lied, all too aware that they were naked in Ortega’s bed. How many times had they thought about this? They didn’t shut down that thought nearly enough, which was probably why they were in this situation. 

“I’ll warm you up.”

Jules groaned but let him move closer, until they were nearly touching. “Is it your goal to be the cheesiest bastard on the planet, or...?”

“You like it,” he said, smugness filtering into his tone. His hand found their side and slid down experimentally, trying to find the point where Jules would tell him to stop. 

Only they wouldn’t tell him to stop. Not this time. 

“I don’t. I hate it, and you’re the worst—” They inhaled sharply when his fingers found the apex of their thighs. 

He paused. “You okay?”

“Um...” How could they respond? They hadn’t felt any other hands besides their own explore them, and now it was Ortega, who was the one who pulled them out of the rubble some years ago and kissed them like he wouldn’t ever get another chance. Ortega, who punched someone at their funeral. _Ricardo_ , who was _in love with them_. 

His hand pulled away uncertainly. “Should I stop?”

Without thinking, they made a grab for his hand and put it back, even lifting their knee for him to maneuver more easily. “Keep going.”

He didn’t need any coercing, and watching him undress had made it easier for them to take a finger—

Christ, they needed _more_. 

Jules grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth. 

Ortega pulled back with a low chuckle. “I thought you wanted me to be gentle, Darington.”

“Changed my mind,” they growled, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. 

He gasped. “Hold on a second.” He shifted with them on top of him, reaching for the nightstand. 

“What...?”

“Condom,” he explained, tearing open the packet behind their back. “I’ll be with you in just a second.” And then, he helped guide their hips back down. 

They blanked on what to do next. The sensation wasn’t _entirely_ foreign to Jules, but Christ, it was definitely different. The spike of confidence ebbed away, leaving them frozen on top of Ortega. 

“Jules?” he murmured. 

Oh, no, this is embarrassing. 

They leaned forward and leaned their hands his chest. “I... I don’t...”

He sat up, startling them. His hands rested over the dimples at the small of their back. “What’s wrong?” 

They shook their head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see them. Was it time to admit that this...?

But, of course, Ortega was only intuitive when it came to sex. 

“Is this... is this your first time?” he asked, his voice painfully soft. 

Their silence was answer enough. 

“ _Mierda_. I wish you’d said something before. I would’ve gone even slower.”

That snapped them back, and a retort fell out of their mouth: “Like I’d _ever_ admit to being inexperienced to you. Get real, Ortega.”

“You just did, Darington. Here. Let’s...” He removed one hand but held onto them tightly with the other. Suddenly, they were on their back with him hovering over them. “I’ll take it from here. Is that alright? May I proceed?”

Jules fought a smile. They would gladly let him set the pace if it meant they didn’t have to struggle with figuring it out for themself. “You may.” 

And, winding his arms around their back, he did set a pace. Slow. Deliberate. But even that made both of them sweat. 

Jules was pretty sure their grip on his shoulders was like a vice, but Ortega never let on if it bothered him. His hips drew smooth circles, eliciting quiet moans from Jules that they just couldn’t hold back. And he enjoyed that thoroughly, leaning down to kiss them deeply. 

His pace was almost romantic. The only things missing were candles. 

For some reason, Jules mind the leisurely pace. It felt _good_ , and Jules had a sneaking suspicion that it might not have felt as good with anyone but Ortega. 

They were both really in this now, weren’t they? 

“Jules,” he whispered, gruffly, in their ear. It sent an unexpected shiver through Jules, which made him groan. “I’m close...”

Their eyes, already closed, squeezed shut tighter. They cupped their hands around his neck, whispered, “ _Ricardo_ ,” and kissed him. 

His rhythm stuttered. He moaned into their mouth, and it was a needy sound that sent Jules over the edge, too, as he tightened his arms around them. 

The both of them shuddered through it, saying each other’s first names in varying levels of coherency. 

Ortega rolled off of them, panting, but he didn’t go far. One arm was still under their back. 

Jules stared up at the ceiling, their hands automatically going to cover their chest. “Um... that just happened.” It _had_ happened, right? This couldn’t be another one of those dreams that Jules acted upon after waking from. 

He laughed and rolled onto his side. The arm underneath Jules held them loosely. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Me, too.”

“Hey.” His other hand touched the side of their face. “I love you.” 

They still couldn’t say it. But they knew without being able to read his mind that they didn’t have to say it back. His feelings seemed unconditional. 

But there was only one way to find out for sure, and now, Jules hoped it would never come to that.


End file.
